
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/746544.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek:_Alternate_Original_Series_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Pavel_Chekov/Leonard_McCoy
  Character:
      Pavel_Chekov, Leonard_McCoy
  Additional Tags:
      Sexual_Content, Self-Loathing, Angst
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-29 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 1938
****** Atrophy ******
by vinniebatman
Summary
     Leonard had considered himself a good, kind man, despite his
     unwillingness to coddle fools. He'd given everything to his wife,
     leaving him hollow, as though she'd carved out those kinder parts of
     him and thrown them away. He was weak; he always said each time was
     the last. But he couldn't say no to Chekov.
     And Chekov has no intention of leaving him alone.
Notes
     Prompt: McCoy/Chekov, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay
     here." for
     [http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=102.4]
strickens_girl
Beta: [http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=102.4]_beetle_
Disclaimer: I so totally own this movie. Bow Down! *Doctor's Note: Patient
exhibits delusions of grandeur and any claims of ownership are pure fantasy. No
harm is meant. Seriously, it's better than her throwing rocks at people.*
Real Disclaimer: I make no money from this work, and claim no ownership over
the to any of the copyrighted material of "Star Trek" in any of its
incarnations. This work belongs to its owners.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Sonic showers weren't Leonard's favorite way to get clean. Unlike water, sonics
lacked that cathartic quality that could wash awaymore than just sweat, come,
and lube. No matter how well the sonics cleaned him, it wasn't enough to wash
away his guilt.
Leonard had considered himself a good, kind man, despite his unwillingness to
coddle fools. He'd given everything to his wife, leaving him hollow, as though
she'd carved out those kinder parts of him and thrown them away.
He was fucking weak; that was the crux of the matter.  He always said each fuck
was the last.  But something always happened; maybe the ex would block his
communications, or Joanna'd cry at the end of a vid, or he'd loose a patient
... something would tear at him until emptiness filled him, withering the
remenants of his soul and urging him to forget his only-one-glass-of-bourbon
rule and drink straight from the bottle.
Somehow, that little Russian bastard always knew.
It was always the same: Chekov would show up, coy smile on his lips as he
barged in, welcoming Leonard's biting kisses.  Leonard was never sweet or
gentle; instead shoving and moving Chekov like a fuck-toy.  Chekov always wound
up on his knees, pretty lips stretched around Leonard's cock, sucking until
Leonard had to grab those soft curls and yank that mouth away.
Then he'd have Chekov stripped and on his hands and knees, keening and rocking
back onto Leonard's fingers (the only time he was remotely gentle).  He always
watched as two fingers became three, stretching until Chekov was begging. 
Leonard would push inside, and surrounded by tight, perfect heat, he'd give up
any pretense of civility.  Everything fell away leaving only heat and flesh and
lust and pleasure.  Leonard would snap his hips, driving faster and harder,
ignoring Chekov's moans as the younger man jerked himself off.
After they came, Chekov would look at him, eyes soft and open, pleading for
more.  And Leonard would force himself off the bed, away from a warm body that
just fit.  Leonard never knew what to say, afraid of what those eyes were
asking. Those eyes dimmed a bit more each time, fading when Leonard offered the
only words he had left: "Better get going, kid."
And then Leonard would shower, cursing and hating  himself for using Chekov
like a god damned whore, a tool to keep himself togther. Sometimes he hated
Chekov for letting it happen. Chekov wasn't a kid; he was an adult, an officer,
old enough to be responsile for his own actions.
He clenched his jaw and pressed his forehead against the wall; he was as clean
as he'd get.  This was the last time; it wouldn't happen again.  Leonard
stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel  around his waist more out of
habit than need, before heading into his bedroom.
He stopped short; Chekov was still on the bed, limbs splayed, ass tilted.  He
hadn't even moved out of the wet spot.  Leonard moved closer to the pillow
where Chekov's head lay.  He crouched, studying his sleeping face.  Fuck, fuck,
fuck.  His eyes were closed, the skin around them dark with exhaustion.  Fuck.
Leonard should have sent him back to his own quarters; Chekov had needed sleep,
not to be used as a goddamned sex-toy.  But Leonard'd been in such a rush that
he'd barely looked at Chekov.  It'd been a shit week; one crew member dead on
the planet, one dead in the OR.
Something in his chest twinged; he reached out and gently ran his fingers
through those curls.  Leonard sighed and shook his head.
"Doctor?"  Chekov opened his eyes, his expression hazy and drugged with sleep. 
He frowned and studied Leonard, then flushed at the sight of his bare chest. 
"Oh, I am sorry; I did not mean to fall asleep."
Chekov moved to get up.
"Go back to sleep, kid; you won't make it to your quarters before you pass
out."
Chekov smiled, sleepy and content.  "Okay."
He buried his face in the pillow, wriggling into a more comfortable position. 
Leonard stood and tossed his towel away before climbing into bed.  He covered
them with the blankets and shut off the lights.
He didn't say anything when Chekov moved closer.
***** Healing *****
Leonard stretched out on the bed, his room dark. He was just so tired.
It had been a long two days following an explosion in engineering. No one had
died, but he'd had no more than a cat nap in the past thirty-six hours. As he
started to fall asleep, his door chimed. Fuck. Leonard had already ordered Jim
to bed two hours ago, so the only other person it could be was Chekov. He
didn't move, holding his breath as though somehow he could hide his presence.
The door chimed again. Sighing, he crawled out of bed and went to the door.
He'd been trying so hard to wean himself off of Chekov, to stop his weakness
before it consumed and ruined the younger man. But he couldn't help it.
Whenever Chekov appeared, be it in his quarters for a fuck, or at his table in
the mess for company, Leonard was simply too grateful for the affection to say
no. The kid wanted more from him, something Leonard no longer had the
capability to give. Leonard punched the control panel and opened the door.
Chekov stood there, dressed in sleep pants and a tee shirt, eyes bloodshot from
exhaustion. "I couldn't sleep," he said. "I just wanted—I sleep better here. We
can have sex, if you want," he offered quietly.
Leonard’s chest ached as he stepped back and nodded his head. Chekov reached
out, his fingers tangling with Leonard’s as the door closed.
"Thank you," Chekov whispered.
The soft, reverent tone made Leonard grateful of the dark. It hid the sweet,
soft look Chekov always had in his eyes. The look that made Leonard wish he
could be whatever the younger man thought he was. But instead of saying
anything, he simply led Chekov through the darkened quarters to his bed.
Leonard pulled back the covers and pushed him into the bed.
"Just to go sleep, kid." He could feel the bed move beside him as Chekov got
comfortable. Then Chekov moved closer, curling up so closely that Leonard could
feel his body heat. His chest twinged again as he fought the urge to curl up
around the younger man.
"We should stop this," he whispered into the dark. "You should stop coming
here."
Beside him, he could hear Chekov's breath stutter. "I know you don't want me,
not really. But sometimes, when things are bad, I just, I need you. Seeing you
makes things better, even if it’s just sex for you."
Leonard's chest just ached. Chekov was . . . too good for him; the kid deserved
someone so much better.
Leonard swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, as though trying to stop words
from escaping. "Find someone else, Pavel. Someone good for you, someone who
deserves you. I just . . . I don't have anything to offer you, kid."
"Lights, fifty percent," Chekov ordered, shifting a bit as the lights came up,
till he lay on his side, facing Leonard. Carefully, he reached out with one
hand, letting it rest on Leonard's cheek. He looked Leonard in the eyes as he
spoke. "No."
Christ, it felt like he was drowning and pulling the kid with him. "Please. I'm
too weak to turn you away."
There was a sudden, terrible sadness in Chekov's eyes as the younger man
frowned. "Why do you think I come here?"
Leonard chuckled bitterly. "I honestly don't know, Pavel. You're young,
brilliant, gorgeous . . . you could have anyone on this ship."
That terrible sadness briefly became a too-bright shine that Chekov was quick
to blink away. "I come because I love you," he said simply, quietly.
Leonard was in shock. He wanted to tell the kid he was wrong, that it was just
a crush. But the kid just kept talking, misery etching deeper into his
features.
"I know you don't feel that way about me, but there are these little moments
when you smile at me, when I think . . . maybe you could love me, too.
Someday?"
“Jesus.” Leonard shook his head, pulling away from that soft, warm touch. "I'm
broken, kid. I don't think I can love anyone," he said with something softer,
and infinitely more regretful than his usual gruff tone.
Chekov's eyes went dim while at the same time that too-bright shine came back.
Leonard wanted to scream. Instead, he just kept being honest. It was the only
way he knew how to be—especially with someone who deserved nothing less. "Just
walk away, Pavel. You deserve to be happy."
Chekov smiled sadly, almost bitterly. And dear lord, that was just devastating
… to see an expression that so keenly mirrored Leonard’s own heart of this
bright, young man. "I can't walk away because when you smile, when you touch
me? It makes me so happy, Leonard. You make me happy."
The doctor could only swallow. This was the way he'd felt about his wife, once
upon a marriage: that desperate desire for the smallest crumb of affection. He
remembered how much it had hurt as those moments had become farther and farther
apart, until they disappeared altogether. It made his chest, his heart ached at
the thought he was doing the same to Chekov.
Because he liked seeing the kid smile—liked to hear his laugh.
He wouldn't do the same to Chekov. He couldn’t.
"Guess I don't have a choice then," Leonard said, with a return of his
customary gruffness. The bright, but false smile on Chekov's face drooped . . .
became a tight, anxious grimace that awaited the worst. "I'm too fucking weak
to send you away, Pavel. So I'm here until you want to stop, until you . . .
give up."
“Never.” The sudden, brilliant smile on Chekov's face—bracketed as it was by
hastily wiped away tear-tracks—made Leonard wonder if maybe things would be
okay, after all. Not that they ever were, not really, but—
Then Chekov was kissing him: a soft, sweet kiss that tasted of toothpaste and
exhaustion, his cool, gentle, capable hands coming up to cup Leonard’s face.
Leonard returned it almost tentatively. After months of screwing around, this
kiss was more intimate than anything they’d ever done. It was wholly
terrifying, and it left Leonard shaking
Then Chekov broke the kiss tenderly, then dropped several smaller ones, each
sweeter and more yearning than the last.
“Good night, Leonard,” he breathed on Leonard’s lips, his thumbs caressing
Leonard’s cheeks.
“G’night,” Leonard breathed back, and Chekov—Pavel—smiled as he rolled onto his
other side and cuddled back against Leonard. When Leonard spooned up close and
woodenly draped his arm over Pavel, Pavel chuckled and pulled Leonard’s arm
tighter around him, arranging it to his satisfaction with a yawn.
“Lights out,” Leonard said.
As the room slowly dimmed to complete darkness, he buried his face in soft,
sweet-smelling curls, he squeezed Pavel close and tight. It wasn’t long before
the kid’s breathing deepened, and evened out into almost-snores. His thin body
was warm and trusting in Leonard’s arms.
“I don’t deserve you,” Leonard whispered, pressing his lips to the shell of
Pavel’s ear with the same reverence he’d accord the Holy Grail. “I don’t
deserve this and I don’t deserve you. But I’ll try; I’ll do my best to make
sure you don’t regret it.”
That promise made, Leonard closed his eyes and relaxed. He was asleep in far
less time than he would have expected. There were no dreams.
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